


try me, shithead

by LeapAngstily



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: A.C. Milan, Affectionate Insults, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-typical Pirlo Language, Canon-typical Rino Murder, Canon-typical Slutty Pippo, Cliché A Week 2021, Drunk Peerlo of Doom, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Insults, M/M, Or not, Peerlo is a flirty drunk, Pre-Relationship, You Decide, mention of puking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: In which Pirlo gets drunk, pukes on Rino, and confesses his undying lust for one Pippo Inzaghi.
Relationships: Filippo Inzaghi/Andrea Pirlo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	try me, shithead

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fourth week of my [Cliché A Week 2021](https://montocalypse.tumblr.com/post/641295869378985984/week-4-in-vino-veritas-also-known-as-confessions) challenge, for a theme _In Vino Veritas_. This is exactly what you'd expect it to be, except for the lack of porn because let's face it, drunken sex is not worth the hype.

“No no _no no_ you’re getting it _all wrong_ ,” Andrea is protesting even as Pippo drags him up the stairs and into the refreshing night air. “I’m completely _fine_ , I don’t need _you_ of all people to babysit me. Shithead.”

His assurances might be more convincing if he wasn’t having trouble standing up straight without Pippo’s steadying arm around his waist.

Pippo is not completely steady on his own feet, either, but between him, Paolo, Ambro, and Rino, they had agreed he was the most sober one and therefore doomed for a night of Pirlo-sitting, which comes with the usual insults and barely veiled flirting.

“You. Stay,” he tells Andrea as he pushes him up against a wall and takes out his phone once he has made sure his old teammate isn’t about to fall over. “I’m gonna get us an Uber and then I’m gonna take you home to your wife and babies.”

“She’s _not_ my wife,” Andrea grumbles with a pout that should not fit his very adult face. “’M _not gonna_ marry again. That shit’s _exhausting_.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” Pippo mutters and enters Andrea’s address as a pitstop before his own place.

“ _And_ I don’t _want_ to go home,” Andrea adds belatedly, his intonation all over the place, like he is having trouble deciding where his sentences should end. “It’s _my_ party, my _retirement_ , you should take me back down and buy me _another_ beer, asshole.”

“No way, you already threw up in Rino’s lap. He’s gonna murder you if he sees you again tonight. And _me_ , for not keeping you in check and taking you home like I promised.”

Given, the affronted look on Rino’s face had been worth every second of terror that had followed the puking incident. Andrea had been lucky there had been no sharp objects nearby or he might have ended with a few stabbing wounds.

Andrea is sliding down against the brick wall until he is sitting on the pavement, his pressed trousers all dusty and wrinkled. Pippo must admire how he managed not to get any puke on himself, not even when Rino had tried to strangle him before Paolo and Ambro had intervened and rescued the man of the hour.

“I _hate_ you,” Andrea slurs as he peers up at Pippo, sounding insulted. “You’re lucky you’re hot, because I can think _no other reason_ to keep your _skinny ass_ around. Motherfucker.”

That gives Pippo a pause because—, “You think I’m hot?”

That’s new. Andrea is a notorious flirt when he drinks, but he has never tried to put any proper moves on Pippo. On Ambro and Paolo, yes, and the way he sometimes clings to Nesta leaves little to imagination. But with Pippo it has always been more about insults and less about compliments. Even if those compliments are laced with a healthy coating of insults.

Which is a pity, really, because among all their former teammates, Pippo is probably the only one who might have warmed up to his advances.

“Have you _looked_ at a fucking _mirror_?” Andrea shoots back, dark eyes suddenly boring into Pippo’s like he just wasn’t drunk off his (very nice) ass. “You’re a _goddamn_ piece of art and I’d have you on _every surface_ of my place if you just _let me_.”

“Valentina might have something to say about that…” Pippo check’s the Uber’s status. Five more minutes until pick-up time.

“Your place, then?” Andrea suggests with a crooked smile that would probably get most girls out of their pants in two minutes flat. Pippo is not that far off, but he has the advantage of knowing Andrea for the past seventeen years, which gives him a certain level of immunity.

“I doubt you’d even get it up,” Pippo tells him with a roll of his eyes. It has been years since he last bothered with drunk hook-ups because it has only ever led to subpar sex, disappointments, and awkward morning-afters.

Plus, this is _Andrea_. His teammate of ten years and a friend of many more. A very straight friend at that, at least when he’s not drunk. The realization hits him only when the said friend pouts again, looking positively wounded.

“Are you insulting my prowess in bed?” Andrea is trying and failing to get up from the ground, almost falling flat on his face when he stumbles forward. Luckily for him, Pippo still has his wits about him, so he manages to grab a hold of his shoulders before he hits the pavement. “I’ll have you know, _you wanker_ , that I’ve _never_ disappointed in bed. They don’t call me _genius_ for _nothing_.”

Pippo snorts aloud, right at Andrea’s fuming face. “You keep telling yourself that, my dear.”

Andrea clings to Pippo’s neck as the former striker pulls him up to his feet. Their faces are alarmingly close together, considering Pippo is half a head taller than Andrea.

“Kiss me and I’ll show you,” Andrea says, voice full of smug challenge. “I’ll fuck you into that sorry mattress of yours, dickhead.”

Pippo wrinkles his nose and cups Andrea’s face between his palms gently, but only to turn his face away from his. “Man, I just saw you puke with that mouth. What kind of a desperate slut you take me for?”

“Oh, a _very_ desperate one…” Andrea confirms with a laugh, his palms trailing up Pippo’s shoulders until they press against the back of his neck. “And you _did_ just say you’d kiss me if I _hadn’t_ puked. That means you _will_ kiss me as long as I brush my teeth beforehand.”

Saved by the bell, the Uber pulls up to them right at that moment and Pippo can ignore Andrea’s very astute observation. “Whatever, let’s just get you home.”

“Don’t _wanna_ go home,” Andrea grumbles, and suddenly his voice seems more sober again. “Valentina hates it when I come home drunk. Especially if the twins have been keeping her up.”

“You should’ve thought of that before getting drunk off your ass, huh?” Pippo shoots down the unvoiced suggestion as he herds Andrea into the backseat and follows him in. “You, mister, are going home and that’s final.”

“You’re no fun,” Andrea whines impudently, and then he plops down all over Pippo’s lap when Pippo tries to fasten his seatbelt, head pillowed on his thighs. “You could just… take me home with you. I promise I’ll behave. No funny business, scout’s honour. Just don’t make me go home.”

The driver is looking at them through the rear-view mirror, no doubt recognizing them both.

“Please just drive?” Pippo pleads as he gives up the fight and lets Andrea keep using him as his makeshift pillow. “And skip the first address. I doubt he’d make it to his own bed without me carrying him, anyways.”

The driver lets out a half-muffled chuckle and pulls up to the street, heading for Pippo’s address.

Andrea twists his upper body until he can look up to Pippo’s face, cheeky smile on his lips. “So, you _are_ taking me home? How naughty of you, _Pippster_.”

“That’s not even an insult, that’s just a shitty nickname.” Pippo pets Andrea’s hair that really is far too soft for his prickly personality. “You’re losing your touch, _Andrea_.”

Andrea responds with a soft snore, and Pippo lets him sleep all the way to his place because it beats reading embarrassing headlines in his morning paper.

A drunk Pirlo is old news, after all – a horny bi Pirlo would be much harder to explain.


End file.
